Worlds in Chaos (32 page)

“A medium hydrogen bomb produces around ten to the power fifteen joules of energy in a millionth of a second, which works out at ten to the twenty-one watts, or a one followed by twenty-one zeros. That’s equivalent to the output of a trillion large power plants. That power radiated equally in all directions would be distributed over a sphere, which is divided into four pi units of solid angle called steradians. That gives you a density of around ten to the twenty—twenty zeros—watts per steradian.” He paused to let that sink in and invite questions. Solemn silence persisted.

“As a conservative estimate, assuming figures I was using ten years ago, the divergence of a beam generated by this kind of device might be five feet over a distance of a thousand miles, or in other words a millionth of a steradian. That means that anything within the cone defined by that beam will be hit by a bolt of energy a trillion times brighter than a hydrogen bomb. Putting that in practical terms, you could easily destroy an ICBM booster at launch from lunar distance. Or you could take out a harder target, such as a reentry warhead, say, from ten thousand miles.” Low whistles and some ominous glances greeted his remarks.

General Kilburn shook his head. “I don’t know. . . . You said you were working on this? We could have
had
it years ago. What happened to it all?”

Keene shrugged. “It was talked about. But a lot of people said it was impossible, and they were the ones who were listened to. The same ones who said planes could never fly, satellites were impossible inside a hundred years, and the Moon landing would never happen, I guess.”

“So what happened to the other people who were working on it?” Kilburn asked.

“One of the top ones I used to know was Robert Sterman at Los Alamos,” Keene said. “He and his family moved out to Kronia. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a hand in what we’re talking about now.”

Novek from the NSC sat forward on one of the couches to reach for the last of some salmon sandwiches that had been brought in earlier. “So at the hundred-mile limit that Idorf has stipulated . . .”

“Don’t even think about it,” Lomack said from a chair near where Keene was standing. “Any material absorbing energy at that rate will turn into a piece of the Sun.”

Seemingly, Novek had ordered the block on communications with the Kronians as a precaution immediately after he learned of what was still being referred to as the “situation”—which Keene wasn’t supposed to know about and Lomack still didn’t. Nobody had criticized the decision, and President Hayer had expressed approval that Novek had done no more than his job. The hold on providing a shuttle to take the Kronians up to the
Osiris
was simply an extension of the same policy until the official line was decided.

More serious was the demand that had been put to Idorf to allow the
Osiris
to be boarded, which Keene obviously knew about since it had been the last straw that prompted Idorf to contact him. The explanation given was that the President had authorized the signal after satellites observed launch preparations at Chinese and European military bases, and intelligence analysts voiced fears that a foreign move to seize the
Osiris
might be imminent. These reports had been exaggerated, and Born had given a contorted account blaming the confusion on a mixup in communications between Defense and State. Keene had no way of knowing whether the story was accurate or just for his and Wally’s benefit. He had a feeling of some wriggling and shoe-shuffling going on, and from Hayer’s reaction got the impression that the President had suspicions too—but it was hardly Keene’s place to comment. Why foreign powers should want to seize the
Osiris
had not been explained.

Hayer’s immediate concern was to smooth things with the Kronians before Idorf took it into his head to start broadcasting his grievances to the whole world. “Let’s make sure we manage our own public affairs,” Hayer said to the room. “That Idorf chose to communicate privately with Dr. Keene tells us he’d still prefer to straighten things out with us than compound the problem, so let’s use that chance while it’s there. Then we can do something about relaxing these restrictions.”

A silence followed. Keene waited for any further technical questions but everyone had evidently gotten the message. Eventually, Voler spoke. “It sounds as if we’re talking about just restoring our relationship with the Kronians to the point where we feel we can trust in their discretion, and then sending them on their way.”

Hayer nodded. “Yes, that’s pretty much the way I meant it, Professor. Their mission here is over, and we’re going to have other things to worry about. Did you have something else to propose?”

“I think that the possible seriousness of the situation forces us to be realistic about considering all our options,” Voler replied. He looked pointedly in the direction of Keene and Lomack. “However, before continuing, I should point out that there are still people present here who do not possess the necessary clearance for the subject to be discussed. Could I suggest that we remedy that situation before proceeding?”

Hayer eyed Voler pensively for what dragged into several seconds, then shifted his gaze to regard first Keene, then Lomack, with curious looks. Hayer had straight yellow hair parted conventionally, and a somewhat florid face. It was his second term, and while Keene had always regarded him as basically honest in his dealings and well-meaning, he had never been what could be described as a strong leader determined to leave his mark. Although competent and solid enough, he was not a great innovator of change, tending to opt for the easier life that came from preserving the safer, proven ways that the established corporations and institutes thrived on. He kept them happy, while they had kept the campaign funding healthy, and stability and order reigned. It really was no surprise that the Kronian endeavor should have run aground as it had, against such an administration. Keene wasn’t sure if the blandness was in Hayer’s nature or due simply to the absence of any occasion to rise to. If the latter, then the next couple of weeks should certainly put that right.

“Under normal circumstance you’d be right,” Hayer agreed. “But what we’re facing is hardly normal. We’re going to need more people like these, but we can’t use them if they don’t know what’s going on. In a matter of days, a week at the most, maybe, it’s going to be common knowledge anyway.”

“I protest,” Voler said, tossing his papers down on a table by his chair. “What I have to say is of an extremely sensitive nature.”

“I have to agree,” Queal chimed in. He was heavy-jowled and stocky, with a shadowy chin and close-cropped black hair. Keene had mentally dubbed him “Bluebeard the Black Belt” when they came in, before he knew anyone’s name. “It’s a breach of procedure. Unnecessary risk.”

“Noted and understood, but I’m pulling rank,” Hayer replied. He looked back at Keene and Lomack. “Out of curiosity, have either of you formed any theories concerning what this is all about?’ he inquired.

“Something pretty big to keep all you people up at this time of night,” Lomack said.

Keene decided he could do a little image polishing without arousing suspicions about Idorf’s discretion. Why act dumber than one needs to? “As a matter of fact, yes I have,” he replied.

“Namely?” Hayer nodded for him to continue.

Keene glanced around. “Well, we all know what happened at the recent conference at the AAAS. I see that Professor Voler is here. And suddenly the Kronians are being held incommunicado—from what I’ve heard, because of the risk of them broadcasting something that the public isn’t ready for yet. Could it be something they learned from their people at Saturn, which is in a different observational position? My guess is they have been proved right, and what supposedly couldn’t have happened with Venus has happened again to Athena: its trajectory has altered, and maybe we’re in trouble.” He looked around the room as if for confirmation and nodded in a way that said there was no need for anyone to answer. Keene was glad now that he hadn’t given Lomack the whole story. The shock on Lomack’s face couldn’t have been faked. Keene couldn’t resist a lordly look in Voler’s direction. Voler turned his head away ferociously.

“I’m impressed,” Hayer said, addressing everybody. “I said we need people like these two with us. You’re absolutely correct, Dr. Keene. Currently we’re waiting for indications to come in of just how much trouble. Our own observatories have the matter on top priority, obviously, and we’re getting the Kronian readings transmitted from Saturn. . . . And now, Professor Voler, you had a point to make.”

Voler sat up tersely, still looking ruffled. “Very well. As I said, in view of the possible seriousness of the situation, I’ll be perfectly blunt. If the first estimates I’ve been hearing are close, we could be talking about major disruption, conceivably comparable to all-out war. In times of war, one does not settle for half measures, gentlemen. Until we know more, we cannot exclude the possibility that it may prove necessary to evacuate key personnel from the surface for a period in order to ensure a smooth reintroduction of order and social controls after the worst of the disturbances have abated.” Voler raised a hand to point directly overhead. “In orbit right now over our heads is the most advanced and dependable means of affording such capability that we’re going to see. In my opinion, it would be the crassest irresponsibility not to take full advantage—for the nation’s benefit—of the unique opportunity that it represents.”

“In plain English, you mean keep the ship here as a lifeboat in case things get rough,” someone said.

“In war, you requisition whatever is needed,” Tyndam, the other astronomer, replied.

“I second it,” Queal informed the room. “Are we supposed to just sit here and let it go back to Saturn when we could end up needing every cubic foot of ship capacity we can get?” He made an appealing gesture that took in everyone. “We’re already looking into what we can mobilize from the lunar bases and remote stations. What’s the sense in talking about bringing that back while at the same time we’re letting go what’s already here?”

“So the first overt act of war is to be on our part?” the President queried. “We steal it or impound it by force—supposing we could find a way. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Not really,” one of the defense advisors pointed out. “The
Osiris
only came here with a complement of, what was it—twenty or something?”

“Twelve on the delegation and eight crew,” Keene confirmed.

“But it’s built to carry a hell of a lot more than that. We’d only be asking them to stay on and help their own kind in an emergency. Is that so unreasonable?”

“And what about the emigrants it was supposed to take back?” Novek asked. “Some of them have already started arriving in Guatemala. More are on the way. They’ve had places booked for months that they’ve given up homes, everything for. What do we do? Just throw them out and say sorry?”

Voler emitted a long sigh and extended his hands in a gesture of regret. “Oh, I admit, I admit . . . It’s a harsh decision. But sometimes harshness is forced.” He looked up. “I said I would be blunt. The emigrants are a mixed selection typical of the seven billion persons on this planet. Nothing exceptional or extraordinary. The space aboard that ship should be kept for individuals who
are
exceptional and extraordinary—the kind of individuals who will be needed if leadership and rebuilding on a large scale has to be undertaken.”

“What kind of individuals do you think go to Kronia?” Keene couldn’t help asking. Voler ignored him.

“I repeat, to let misplaced sentiments take priority at a time like this would be foolish and irresponsible. The knowledge that enabled that ship to be built originated on Earth. The wealth that went into founding the Kronian colony was created on Earth. The ship belongs to Earth.”

“How are you proposing we take it, then?” someone invited. “You heard what Landen Keene said. It could melt a battleship from a hundred miles away.”

Voler bunched his mouth for a moment, then replied, “We are already holding passports onto it. The Kronian delegation is still down here. We keep them here until the situation becomes clearer. Then, should it be necessary, we return them on the condition that the remaining places are filled with people of our choice. It’s as simple as that.”

Hayer stared hard at him. “Blackmail now? They come here as guests and you want to make them hostages. Is that it?”

Having gone so far, Voler could hardly back down. “I would have preferred a less indelicate word, but if we must use such terms, then yes. I urge us to be realistic, Mr. President. It is a time when pure pragmatism must decide.”

Hayer held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then shook his head. “No, Professor. If the situation turns out not to be so bad, we would have disgraced ourselves for no purpose. If it does turn out bad, then the goodwill of Kronia might not be something we’d want to throw away lightly. This isn’t a problem to be worked out by calculus. Proposition noted and considered. Overruled.”

From there, the meeting went on to consider practicalities closer to home. Keene was surprised that he and Lomack were involved, but Hayer seemed to want them present. National governments and UN organizations were being alerted to prepare for collaborative action, and instructions were already quietly going out to military, police, and public services to be ready to suspend leave and vacation schedules and mobilize reserves. Obviously, just about every professional and amateur astronomer on the planet was watching Athena, and it could only be a matter of time before alarms began sounding from other quarters at home and overseas. Nothing could be done about that. Assuming the news didn’t first break from elsewhere, no general announcement would be made to the media for a further twenty-four hours, by which time more information would be available from the scientific community.

The most obvious fear was of intense meteorite and dust showers from the cloud of ejection debris that had been accompanying Athena since its fission from Jupiter. The effects could be expected to be comparable to heavy, widespread air attack, with some impacts on nuclear-equivalent scale, with a small but not negligible probability of these occurring on dense population centers. Coastal inundation from ocean and offshore impacts was a virtual certainty, with hurricane-force seas likely in all areas and a distinct risk of tidal waves maybe a hundred feet high—worse if a big one hit, say, fifty miles off Miami. FEMA was cleared to activate standing evacuation plans and emergency measures at the state and city level. Military and civic command and coordination centers intended for use in national emergencies were to be readied, lists drawn up of public and private buildings with basements or parking garages, subway stations, natural caverns, and other structures capable of serving as shelters, and stocks of food, fuel, and medical supplies set aside in strategic locations. Police and auxiliary units would be briefed and equipped for dealing with looters and rioting, and the military should be prepared to take over the direction of essential services. The President’s final words before leaving were, “From what we’ve been hearing over the past year, it seems that the place to look for more hints of the kinds of things to expect might be certain parts of your Bibles. For anyone with time left over, I’d recommend reading the rest of it too.”